


Contract

by Cyan (vehicroids)



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Inspired by The Witcher, Literally a shameless Witcher AU lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 17:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehicroids/pseuds/Cyan
Summary: The life of a witcher was never easy, but this contract proved a little too difficult for Albtraum.





	Contract

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M Vice (Impavidus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impavidus/gifts).



> MORE OC STUFF even tho again they're not mine. They belong to [ as part of an exchange. She's really sweet aaaaa Come check me out on ](https://twitter.com/i_mpavidus)[Tumblr](http://vehicroids.tumblr.com), too!

Witchers were cold, heartless butchers. To call them monsters would have been an insult to monsters. They had no soul, no empathy. All they cared about was their payment at the end of their contract. They didn’t care who got in their way or who they stepped on. They carried on with their day like nothing happened. Witchers were disgusting, selfish mutants.

Albtraum would argue otherwise.

He had met supposed monsters with more humanity than mankind. He had met men who had less empathy than a wraith. Kindness and decency were not exclusively human traits.

Some could argue that not all witchers were kind, and they were welcome to their opinion. Perhaps some witchers from other schools were less than kind, but the same could not be said about the witchers from the school of the wolf. The witchers there were decent men, and certainly not lesser than a regular human.

Brunhart gained no money by taking in a sickly Al as a child. He had gained no riches from looking after this young boy. He gained no glory from raising Al into the witcher he was today. What he did gain, however, was a son. That was worth more than the fat purse of a nobleman. Al would prefer having Brunhart in his life than a pocket full of gold, he could say that for certain.

Al wasn't exactly rich, but he made up for it by being rich in company. He had an interesting cast of people around him, and he loved them all dearly. But he didn’t love any of them like he loved Mianna. It was as if she had cast a spell on his heart, utterly bewitching him.

Of course, he wouldn’t say that. That was far too cheesy.

When Al had met Mia, his idiot child brain solely thought  _ beautiful girl _ . He was ashamed of his past self, but he wasn't wrong. Mia was beautiful, and time had only ever been kind to her. She had grown into a gorgeous woman. If Al was a religious man, he would have thanked the gods for this chance to be with her. Instead, he would thank the fates that brought them together.

Now a fully fledged witcher, he could do as he pleased with his life. And he had decided what he wanted to do. He was taking large, high-risk contacts, counting his coins. It was never enough - especially as he kept undercharging clients - but his purse was building. Al was thankful for every piece of gold that came his way.

One day, he would have the money to give Mia the life and home she deserved. Even if she was with a ‘dirty witcher’, and him with an ‘evil sorceress’, they deserved to be happy. The thought alone was almost funny. There was nothing evil about Mia. Perhaps smug, but that did not make her evil - in that case, most of the nobles would have been evil. Then again, most of them were. Mia was not one of them, though.

Mia suited the snobs at Oxenfurt well. Not because she was a snob, but because she could outwit any of them. She had intelligence like no other, experience these stuffy scholars could only dream of. They had a habit of underestimating her. Maybe it was due to her tiny stature, or maybe because she was a woman in a man’s world.

Al hoped she was careful. Jealous men had accused women of being witches for far less. Mia could take care of herself, but it didn’t stop the worry. The last thing he wanted was to hear about Mia burning at the stake in Novigrad.

He shook his head, expelling the thought. He must never think like that.

Al visited her as often as he could. If there was a job that took him anywhere near Oxenfurt, he made sure to stop to see her. If not, he made an excuse to take a detour to Oxenfurt. Maybe Al was too soft for his own good, but he missed Mia too much when they were apart.

What was that about witchers caring about no one but themselves?

Seeing Mia was like coming home. He pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her hair. Everything about her was comforting. Her voice, the warmth of her body, even her scent. She smelled so good, he wanted to bury himself in her perfume. Perhaps he could take a small sampling for himself while she wasn’t looking. He closed his eyes, enjoying the embrace.

“It's good to see you again, darling,” she whispered, holding him close.

No matter how long it had been, he melted into her every time he saw her. If he could, he could cling to her forever. But he didn’t, because they both led busy lives. One day, perhaps, they could retire together. He knew it was a silly thought. Witchers did not die in their beds.

“I have missed you,” Al said, pulling away.

Mia gripped his shoulders, standing on her toes to kiss him softly. “As have I.”

His visits were never long - about a day or so - before Al had to go again. He promised her he would return soon, and he usually kept to his promise. Sometimes, their time apart was longer than he liked. But this was necessary, and it was out of his control. Soon, it would have all been worth it. Soon he could take contracts as a hobby, and not as a necessity. Soon, his hard work would have paid off.

He was conducting business in Novigrad, and he could feel the stare of a thousand people, judging him. Al knew what they were staring at: his eyes like a viper, his two swords, his medallion. They knew who he was. He ignored them as much as he could, moving straight to the noticeboard. A large city was bound to have large problems, involving a large sum of money. Perfect for Albtraum.

All he found was disappointment. The noticeboard was pitiful. Pathetic jobs any man could do, coupled with pointless advertisements. Apparently the Chameleon was holding some kind of event, but Al shook his head. He had no interest. Eventually, among the pile of nothing, he found  _ something _ . It wasn't anything special. A couple of ghouls had gathered not far from the city, a result of decaying bodies. Pleasant, but a job was a job.

He ripped the paper from the board. Alright, time to find those ghouls.

He followed where the contract said to go, though Al could soon just follow his nose. The stench was strong: how long had those bodies been left there for? From the smell, Al guessed about a week or so. Disgusting. Why didn't people dispose of bodies instead of leaving them to rot? He could understand the danger, but he was certain at least cremating the bodies would have been a better idea.

He came across an older soldier, his nose in the air. What little of his mood faded when he laid eyes on Al. If the man wasn’t careful, Albtraum would have just left him to do it himself.

Who was he kidding? He was too soft.

“You who they sent?” a man sneered, looking Al over.

He nodded. “Yes. I hear you have a ghoul problem.”

“Suppose there ain't no better help than a witcher.” The man grimaced. “Right, well, all we want is for someone to keep the ghouls off of us while we bury our men. Ain't been able to give our boys a real send off with those bastards.”

Al nodded. It still wasn’t a good enough excuses to leave rotting corpses, but he knew better than to argue. He pulled his sword from its sheath, glancing around. He could sense movement - human patterns, likely this man's companions. He did not let his guard down, however. He approached the area cautiously, waiting. Yet there was nothing. Had he been tricked? He heard movement again, inhuman. He turned on his heel, and was faced by a ghoul.

It screeched at him, lunging at him with teeth and claws. A diagonal slash across its body took care of that. It screamed, staggering back, and Al took this chance to stab into its heart. He turned again, stabbing a ghoul that tried to sneak up on him. Its cry was gurgled with Al’s blade in its throat, and it dropped limply to the floor. The nest couldn't have been far from here. If he just found that--

Al was knocked to the floor by a powerful force, too powerful for a regular ghoul. He turned onto his back, and his eyes widened. A cemetaur stood above him, about to dive down. He wasn’t aware that even a small gathering of bodies could bring one of those - it was a queen, after all. But now wasn’t the time to debate the accuracy of centuries-old textbooks that had fallen out of print, even before Lambert’s time.

There was no way Al would let himself get eaten alive. He rolled out of the way, pulling a vial from his belt. It was a little late to apply oil now, but he had no other options. He haphazardly poured the oil over his sword, dropping the little vial.

Al stood, eyes narrowed and sword brandished. It lunged for him again, screaming. As if called, more ghouls appeared. He wasn't sure how he was going to come out of this alive, but he was damn well going to try.

With his fingers, he drew out a sign - igni. A semi circle of flame fanned out in front of him, burning a couple of ghouls. But he knew what his target was. He ran to the cemetaur, trying to dodge the ghouls lunging for him. As he swung for the cemetaur, a ghoul clawed his back, starting at the shoulders and going down to his side.

Al almost dropped his sword, his back arched. He barely stopped the cry spilling from the back of his throat. His arms were shaky, but he managed to swing his sword just fine. He slashed the cemetaur across the stomach, though not deep enough. It held its hand over its stomach, slumping over.

All he had done was anger the ghouls further.

They all jumped on him then, ready to avenge their queen. Al tried his best to keep fighting, but he didn't know how long he could keep going for. His head was dizzy, he was seeing white. He held his head in his hand. The last thing he saw was another ghoul coming for his face. And then, nothing.

Al woke up with a sharp gasp, swinging his sword. He realised soon that he was only waving his empty hand - a pathetic wave at that. He sighed, bringing his hand over his face, embarrassed. He could barely remember what had happened. Ghouls, so many ghouls. And a cemetaur. Unless that was a dream, but he doubted it. He tried to move, but the pain in his back told him to stay where he was.

Actually, where was he? The smell of the room was familiar. This was the first thing that caught his attention. He recognised the surroundings, decorated like a typical noble’s house. No noble would take in a witcher, none bar… 

“Mianna,” he whispered under his breath.

How did he end up here? He was east of Novigrad, last he knew. In his state, there was no way he could have dragged himself over to Mianna. Even on horseback, it was impossible. He tried to sit up once again, but his body protested. Once again, he gave up on that idea.

The door opened, and there stood Mia. Worry was etched on her face, frowning. She lit up when she saw that Albtraum was awake. She closed the door behind her and moved over to him, brushing red hair from his face. The smile on her face was thin and small. It could not conceal the worry that lay beneath.

“Why am I here?” Al asked.

“It is good to see you as well, Albtraum,” Mianna said plainly.

He could have started with anything. A hello, or a confession that he had missed her. But the question pressed too much to the front of his mind. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hand still in his hair. At least she didn’t seem too mad at him.

“Feylan found you, about to be torn apart by necrophages.” Mia sighed. “Swallow can only do so much without poisoning yourself.”

Al dreaded to think the pain he would have been in had he not been brought here. Feylan could have easily shoved Swallow down his throat and left him to die. Witchers were not as invincible as people thought. Al sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He was ashamed of himself for being unable to take care of a simple necrophage problem. What sort of witcher was he?

“Are you disappointed in me?” he asked, hesitant. He didn't want to know, not really.

Mia sighed softly. “Of course not, darling. I am glad to see you're alright.”

Al grabbed her hand gently, pressing the palm to her lips. Mia gave him a far more sincere smile at the gesture, briefly closing her eyes.

“I will run you a bath,” she said. Al opened his mouth to protest. “The warm water will do you wonders.”

She kissed his forehead and stood up, smoothing out her dress. She moved to the door, before looking over her shoulder to Al.

“I'll be just a moment.”

And just like that, she disappeared. He closed his eyes, listening to Mianna work her magic with water. That was one thing about magic - warm water at will. She muttered spells to herself, just in case someone who wasn't a witcher overheard her. She wasn’t going to let herself be caught by some hunter, not after hiding for this long.

No matter how long it had been, he missed the sound of her voice dearly. It was a shame he could not capture her voice like one keeps something in a locket. It was a shame there was no such magic.

Albtraum heard her move back to him - as promised, she did not take long. She opened the door.

“Are you able to stand?” she asked.

He nodded. “I think so.”

Al was slow as he got out of bed, but he managed. He glanced down at the sheets. He had left a mess of dirt and dried blood all over Mia’s bed, but she would understand. Hopefully. If not, it was a problem for later. He could apologise when he was better.

Mia led him to the bathtub, which had been filled with warm water. The scent of celandine essence was strong, mixed with sage and something his nose couldn’t quite pick up. Knitbone, perhaps - it was harder to sniff out when everything else smelled so strongly. It was a little strong, but he knew Mianna knew what she was doing. Al looked into the tub, knowing the smell came from in there. He undressed slowly and carefully, his shoulder and back still tender. As soon as he was undressed, he lowered himself into the water.

“I would assume Feylan took the money, then,” Al said. It was fair, but it didn't make him any less mad.

“I would assume so, yes.”

Al should have known. He sank into the tub fully, enjoying the warmth of the water. Albtraum shuddered, happy. The water made everything feel like heaven. He never wanted to leave this warm cocoon. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He could live in this tub forever. If there was one big enough for two people, that would have been sheer bliss. He sat up, and noticed Mia grab some soap.

Al leaned his head back, not even trying to fight his fate. Her hands were gentle as she washed through his hair, and he closed his eyes once more in relaxation. Mia took such good care of him. Al knew he was lucky. She worked out all of his stresses with her magic hands. He dunked his head down, washing away suds and dirt. His hair felt a thousand times lighter, and he felt much happier in himself.

“Thank you,” he said.

In response, Mia leaned down and kissed his temple, rinsing her hands in the water. Al washed the rest of his body, letting his hair hang from the edge of the tub to try out. He didn't want to leave, but he knew that eventually it would grow cold and uncomfortable to stay in. Still, he stayed in for as long as the water was warm.

Eventually, he gave up on the lukewarm water. He stood, though his body tried to protest. He stepped out of the tub, cold air hitting his damp skin. He shivered as Mia wrapped a towel around him. He felt silly being babied, but he had to admit, it was nice to be looked after. There was nothing wrong with being loved.

He dried himself off and made his best effort at drying his hair. However, it remained wet for the moment. There was only so much Al could do about it. He didn't bother trying to comb it, not until Mianna handed him a comb. He wanted to refuse - brushing his hair hurt his scalp - but he should make a bit of an effort. He combed his hair, despite the discomfort it gave him.

“It would be easier if you combed it more regularly,” Mianna teased.

And she was right. It didn't mean he would do it any more than necessary. It wasn't his fault he stuck out like a sore thumb in Oxenfurt. Witchers have no reason to look ‘presentable’. One could clean a pig as much as they wanted, but it would still be a pig. The only reason to look nice was for Mia.

“Come back to bed,” she said.

For once, Al was looking forward to going back to bed and relaxing. He took her hand, letting himself be led back to the bedroom. Miraculously, the sheets were clean, but Al was too tired to care. It could have been a bale of hay for all it mattered to him - he had slept in worse place. He got into the bed, laying on his front. His back hurt just a little too much to lay on. Mianna touched his back. Her fingers felt like fire on his tender flesh, and he flinched. Mia took the hint. She moved her hand down to the small of his back, tracing small shapes on the skin.

“Oh, what am I going to do with you?” she said softly.

“I'm fine,” Albtraum insisted. “I'm alive. That's what counts.”

What would have counted more was the coin. He knew that. He deflated as Mianna got into the bed with him. Hold on, when did she get undressed? It didn't matter. She pulled herself close to him. He could feel her warm breath on his bare skin, making him shudder, though it wasn’t unpleasant.

He moved himself to his side, pulling her closer. There wasn't any pulling, rather, she came closer of her own volition. Al kissed her forehead, and Mia put her hand on his face.

“I have truly missed you,” Al said.

Mia traced her thumb against his cheekbone. “And I have missed you, as well.”

She pressed her lips against his for a brief moment, pulling away to look into his eyes. Al sometimes wondered what she saw when she looked at him. A monster, perhaps. That was because he was, but that was hardly the point.

It was hard to ignore his more monstrous traits, especially when they were right in plain view. It was hard to miss the bright yellow eyes, and it was hard to miss the scars. He was aware he was not human. Humans had made that fact painfully clear.

“I know that face,” Mia said, interrupting his thoughts. “Tell me your thoughts.”

Al had many. He wasn’t human. He felt like a pitiful excuse for a witcher. But most importantly, he still could not shake the thought that he had disappointed Mianna. He looked away.

“Are you still worrying over disappointing me?” she sighed. “Darling, nothing you could ever do would disappoint me. I promise you, I will never be angry for you getting injured, only worried,” she said, her tone soft.

Al tried not to let the relief show. “Thank you.”

Al gave her a small smile. He kissed her forehead again, his lips lingering for beat. He didn’t move, closing his eyes.

“You should rest,” Al said.

Preferably with him, of course, but if she wanted him to move, he would have happily gone. She did not kick him out of bed. Her hand danced on his side, tickling him.

“Yes,  _ we  _ should.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. He wrapped his arm around her waist, settling down to sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was the herbs in the tub, or the fact he was with Mia, but he drifted off into the best sleep he ever had.


End file.
